**Corporal Sylvana Silverleaf's Log, Supplemental**
**Hylar Forest border recording**
**37 days after Rothgard's Fall**
The desert yields to the trees.
The conquered lands have already forgotten their name.
The Wyvern shuttle came in low from the southern desert, skimming just above the golden dunes and sparse scrub in a long, deliberate approach. Its stealth engines remained throttled to a near-silent whisper, the craft hugging the terrain to avoid detection. The pilot guided it with precise control as the landscape shifted beneath them, rocky outcrops giving way to scattered trees and then the dense, shadowed wall of the Hylar Forest rising ahead like a living barrier. The transition was abrupt yet smooth—the shuttle slipped between the first towering pines, branches whipping dangerously close to the hull, before the pilot lined it up for a narrow clearing barely visible among the dense canopy. The ground rushed up to meet them, every second stretching into an eternity of held breath and clenched fists.
The ramp lowered while the shuttle hovered just above the forest floor. Sergeant Jax "Specter" Kane gave the signal, and the squad dropped one by one into the thick undergrowth. Sylvana Silverleaf landed lightly, knees bending to absorb the impact, her elven grace making the fall feel almost natural. Darius Blackthorn hit the ground with a heavy thud. He tried to muffle, followed by Elara Whitestone and Rylan Graymaw. Tobin Brasswhistle landed last, his small frame rolling expertly through the moss. The Wyvern lifted away without a sound, vanishing into the night like a fading dream. The squad regrouped in a tight circle beneath the dense canopy, hearts pounding from the drop and the knowledge of what lay ahead.
Sergeant Kane crouched low and pulled out his flexible tablet, unrolling it across his knee. The screen glowed faintly with a real-time satellite scan of the border area, showing the thinning forest line and the scarred land beyond. Tobin Brasswhistle leaned in close, his gnome eyes narrowing as he studied the image with the sharp focus of someone who had grown up in these very lands.
"That's the old Gnome border," Tobin whispered, his voice tight with anger. "The Imperia cut a wide clearing through the trees to make their defensive line. See those ridges? They built watchtowers there after they overran our workshops. The conquered kingdom lies just beyond—once rolling hills filled with clever forges and underground halls. The capital is further inland, hidden in the valleys where we used to hide our greatest inventions."
Kane's voice cut in, calm and professional, drawing on years of Delta Force training. "We treat this like any denied-area infil. Stay in the tree line until we reach the thinning edge. I want eyes on every tower and supply route before we move. Prioritize high-value nodes—command posts, Mana crystal storage, and slave transit points. If we spot a patrol, we freeze and let them pass. Extraction contingency is the same clearing we just used—call it in only if we're compromised. No unnecessary risks. We observe, we record, we withdraw clean."
The squad moved out, slipping through the dense undergrowth toward the thinning forest edge. The trees gradually gave way to scarred stumps and churned earth. They slipped in with a passing supply caravan, blending among the labourers and wagons as they crossed the border. Beyond lay the conquered Gnome kingdom—once a realm of clever workshops and rolling hills, now a patchwork of Imperial outposts and ruined villages. Smoke rose from distant forges. Chains glinted on the wrists of gnome labourers forced to repair roads and haul supplies under the watchful eyes of black-armoured guards.
The oppression was raw and unrelenting. A small group of gnome children was being marched toward a labour camp, their small hands bound. A wolfkin slave stumbled under the weight of a heavy crate and was struck down by a guard's boot. The cruelty was casual, everyday, as if the land itself had been broken and remade in the image of the Imperia.
The squad crouched at the tree line, taking in every detail. Elara whispered, "Supply wagons moving east. They're reinforcing the front lines. We mark the routes." Rylan's growl was barely contained. "The scent of fear is thick. They break the people here the same way they broke Rothguard." Tobin's small hands tightened on his pack. "The forges are running hot. If we can get closer, I can note the weak points in their supply lines for the next strike." Sergeant Kane's voice was calm steel. "We watch, we record, we withdraw. The sky will answer soon enough. Stay hidden."
They moved along the border under the cover of the thinning trees, marking every outpost and patrol route with quiet precision. The weight of the conquered land pressed down on them, yet the determination in their eyes only grew stronger. The resistance in the woods would need every scrap of intelligence they could bring back. The border of the South Western Forest and the conquered Gnome kingdom had become a line of fire and shadow. Sylvana's squad stood on it, ready to strike back.